The Secret Keeper
by anne-writes
Summary: Hermione ran away, and made Severus the Secret Keeper of her cottage. But now... One Shot.


Disclaimer: I only own their actions, and the plot. Everything else is JKR.

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Hermione awoke to a pounding on her door, and she groaned. Whoever was trying to talk to her at 9 in the morning on a Saturday certainly didn't deserve her expediency in answering the door. The pounding didn't stop, and she jerked her front door open, about to tell whoever it was to sod off and come calling at a more reasonable hour.

But she didn't get the chance, because before she could stop him, Severus Snape began talking.

"Granger. I cannot deal with Potter. He has been asking after your well-being for weeks, and if I am forced to listen to him for another moment I will find myself back in Azkaban. I refuse to aid you in your clandestine lifestyle any longer."

She sighed, and pulled the door wider open and gestured for him to enter. He scowled at her, but stormed past and sat on the edge of her sofa.

"Coffee?" she said sarcastically, walking to the kitchen and preparing a cup for herself.

She had been so fed up with the attention after the final battle, as well as the way her friends were behaving, and of no one paying more than passing regard to all those they had lost, that she had snapped. Sure, there were memorials constructed, and the Ministry held remembrance events, but everyone seemed to be moving on much too quickly for her taste. Merely two years later, people were getting on with their lives just fine, and she was still living through that battle every night.

Hermione had quit her job and moved out, to a small house in a run-down town at the edge of Wales. She rendered it Unplottable, and though the small community of villagers knew who she was and why she was there, they welcomed her with open arms (likely because there were a few extra sons that were in need of a wife), and she settled in right away.

She had decided upon a whim to make Snape her Secret-Keeper, realizing that aside from Minerva, he was really the only one who she could be absolutely sure wouldn't divulge her location to her friends. She hadn't wanted to bother Minerva with the responsibility, knowing she was busy running Hogwarts, and so had approached a scowling Snape after one of the superfluous meetings of the Order. Surprisingly, he had acquiesced, grudgingly. They had become almost friendly after the end of the war, since she was just as fed up with everyone else as he was.

But somehow Harry had sleuthed out that Snape knew where Hermione was. And Snape was bloody angry.

She walked back into the front room and sank down into an armchair, still exhausted, clad only in a thin nightgown with a light dressing gown thrown loosely over. Her hair was wild, and her makeup from last night was smudged down her cheeks. She could feel Snape's gaze assessing her current state, and she glared at him.

"Hermione, I cannot deal with this. This is absolutely not what I signed up," he snapped, irate.

"Look, I'm sorry! I didn't intend for any of this to blow out of proportion," she replied.

"I don't care! I don't have enough patience to deal with the Boy Wonder constantly plaguing me with inquiries as to your location and threats if I don't tell him. But even that isn't as bad as the whining moodiness I get from the Weasley idiot!" Severus was actually yelling now, hands clenched on the edge of the cushion.

"Well, I'm sorry! But I am not going back to that until all of this absurdity dies down!" she yelled back, coffee forgotten as it sloshed over the side of the mug and onto the carpet.

"Then I'm just going to go and tell Rita Skeeter where you're living! And why you're avoiding 'poor Ronald!'" he yelled, standing.

She stood as well, setting her mug angrily down on the side table.

"You wouldn't," she said furiously.

"Try me." Severus replied, leaning closer, his voice deadly low.

"Snape!" she snapped.

"I will. I'm sick of this," he replied, voice returning to a more reasonable level.

"Well, I'm sorry! You had to have known what you were getting yourself into!" she said, getting angrier by the minute.

"I wasn't thinking! I just wanted--" and he stopped short, looking horrified with himself. Suddenly, the anger in the air vanished, and she looked at him, confused.

"Wanted what?" she asked, perplexed.

He sighed.

---

Severus hadn't wanted to be the damn girl's Secret Keeper. He thought it was idiotic that she was running off and hiding in the first place, nevermind completely irrational. Everyone else had to deal with the onslaught of attention and aftermath as well.

But he had sensed that there was more to it than just that. There was something off about the reasons she had given, as if she knew they weren't justifiable on their own, and that there was something else beneath the surface. There was something so desperate about Hermione when she had approached him, hair wild curls, blue dress clinging to her curves, that his curiosity was piqued, and he agreed.

And there was also something primitively satisfying about the fact that _he_ was the only one who knew where she was, that _he_ was the only one who could visit when he wanted and tell her about her friends, and how much this made her _need_ him.

But it was also brutal, being around her and not being able to touch her at all. Not being able to tell her that for the past year of bringing her the Daily Prophet and eating her burnt toast, that he wanted her beyond rationality. And the times they got bloody pissed at the local pub and he had to half-carry her home that he wanted to kiss her and run his hands down her back and show her how much Weasley had been lacking.

Because she wouldn't see it. She wouldn't see that they were perfect for each other, even though he was almost twice her age and wasn't properly attractive. She wouldn't understand that he needed her so unbearably that even just knowing where she was made him feel more comfortable when he was lying awake at night. And it was so irrational, but he was entranced with every step she took, that every time he tucked her into bed when she had had too much to drink he felt more at home than he ever had before. That he would give up anything if it meant he could kiss her, once, feel her hands on chest, wrap his arms around her.

Severus pulled himself back to reality, back to her standing with her hands on her hips, cheeks flushed from their argument. He hadn't even wanted to win. He would never tell anyone where she was, he just wanted an excuse to come over, knowing she would have been asleep. Needing an excuse to see her disheveled, grumpy, tired. He just wanted to be there with her. But he had lost track of himself, almost let it slip.

"Wanted nothing. I won't tell anyone where you are. Have a good morning," Severus said quickly, turning to leave. But her hand was on his elbow, and she was turning him back to her, and he was putty in her hands.

"Snape--" she asked quietly. "Why are you here?"

He shut his eyes. This was out of hand.

But her hand was still on his elbow, and even through the layers of his clothing he imagined he could feel every groove of her fingers, every little indentation or crease.

"Severus?" she asked, sounding curious and slightly concerned.

And that did it. His name, on Hermione's lips, the exact thing he had been fantasizing about for almost a year. His eyes snapped open and he grabbed her hips and pulled her body against his, winding one arm around her back and one hand around the back of her neck, bending down and bringing his lips to hers, kissing her almost forcefully. He knew that this was the only moment he had, the only time this would happen, and after this he would never see her again. But it was worth it, he realized, as he ran his hand into her hair. He was almost losing control of his emotions, he was so overwhelmed by the argument and the way she smelled and the way she has begun kissing him back. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, arching her body against his, and pulling him closer.

Severus suddenly jerked back.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked, suspicious and angry and looking at her as though she were pulling some sort of prank on him.

Hermione stood there, lips moist, and stared blankly at him. Then something passed over her face, something tragic, and she bit her lip.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, voice wavering.

He stared at her, suddenly speechless. Why wasn't she slapping him and throwing him out of her house and finding a new Secret-Keeper and never speaking to him again?

"Why—" he cleared his throat. "Why aren't you mad at me?" he asked, voice low.

"Why would I be mad at you?" she asked, even more confused. "I know you won't tell anyone."

"Mad at me for kissing you," he clarified, still trying to get his wits about him.

She laughed suddenly, the hurt and worry and anxiousness leaving her face in a flash. "I've been wanting that for months," she said, slightly embarrassed, stepping closer to him again, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I've seen you watching me, and taking care of me, and worrying about me," she whispered. "I want you too."

But he couldn't even respond, just staring down at her, arms at his sides, absurdly happy at what she was saying but so confused about why she was saying it. Because it couldn't be true.

"Or… am I wrong? I'm sorry, I won't mention it, oh God, how embarrassing for me," she said quickly, turning bright red and stepping back quickly. But he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back, still speechless. But he knew to take an opportunity when one presented itself, and he lowered his mouth to hers.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Severus' neck, tangling her fingers in his hair and pressing her body against his. She heard his low groan, and felt his arms tighten around her hips as he lifted her against him. His hands jerked the satin of her nightgown up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He let out a sharp sound in the back of his throat, and she moved closer.

He walked to her bedroom, stopping in the hallway to hold her against the wall and run his hands up her nightgown, and they were both shuddering by the time they made it to her unmade bed. He couldn't keep himself from touching her, and he pulled off her nightgown and robe as quickly as he could, and she was trying to undo the row of buttons on his shirt when she shoved him away from her.

"What?" he asked hoarsely, unable to keep his hand from running along her arm and down her side, even though he was sure she was going to tell him to stop.

"You do them, there's too many. You're wearing too many clothes," she explained, eyes glazed and a pink flush running down her neck.

He quickly stood and did as she asked, pulling his shirt off hastily, and throwing it to the side. He went to rejoin her, but she held out her hand to stop him.

"Still too many," she said, eyes laughing now.

He almost smiled. He stood, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them off, along with his shoes and socks. Leaving his boxers on, he leaned forward again, but once more she stopped him.

"Severus," she said laughingly. "Still. Too. Many."

His eyes darkened, and he slowly pulled his boxers off, before kicking them aside and shoving her back onto the bed.

"Better, witch?" he growled against her throat.

He felt her laugh. His fingers ran down to the edge of her underwear, playing with the thin cotton a moment before pulling them down, and she kicked her legs to help. And his lips found hers again, and they were together, in that secret cottage on the edge of Wales.


End file.
